


The Man in the Mirror

by neevebrody



Category: Dawson's Creek, Thoughtcrimes
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-02
Updated: 2008-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendan normally wouldn't feel awkward undressing in front of the mirrored closet doors. He did it every day, but Vincent specifically asked him to do this, Vincent was watching him do this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man in the Mirror

That sleazebag Tischenko had started it all.  Set in motion the sour mood that wound itself around Brendan – like a cocoon, seeping into his skin.  Trying to get a witness to roll over on a mark they really, really wanted had always been unpalatable to Brendan.  He hated cutting deals with vermin like Tischenko.  But, Nelson Varghese was a big fish, the biggest, and Harper had made it clear it was Dean's job to reel him in by whatever means necessary.  He glanced over at Freya, who was doing research on yet another case.  She could have helped – a lot, but she'd missed the session.  An appointment with Wells, she'd said, showing up after lunch.  He checked his watch.  Jesus, another hour and thirty minutes before he could close the book on this day.

He stared at his computer until the default NSA screensaver popped up and began to wander aimlessly over the screen.  He was supposed to be typing his notes from that morning.  Harper had already asked nicely, twice, and had been kind enough to remind Brendan that he was still shy a report from last week.  Brendan didn't understand the problem, it wasn't like he was shirking or anything.  Lately, he just seemed kind of…

"I know what your problem is," Freya piped up.

He started to peck out the first few words.  "Excuse me?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard her.

"You're in love."  She threw him a glance before going back to her research. 

He whipped his head around to see if anyone else might have overheard.  "Excuse me?" he asked again, cutting his eyes her way.

"Yup, you're lousy with it.  I mean, I can't blame—"

"And just where did that idea come from?" he hissed.

"Oh please, Brendan.  Even if I weren't a telepath, you are so transparent sometimes.  And, I might as well tell you, the Scooby-Doo thing?  That's so not working, so would you _please_ stop, and I don't mean switch to the Brady Bunch theme…unless you want to die a slow, painful death."

"Jesus, a man can't even have a private thought around here."

"Well, not around me anyway, sweetie.  Does he know?"

He squinted at his notes, eyes darting over the page.  "Does who know what?"

"Vincent," she said, turning away from her screen to roll her eyes at him.  "Does he know you love him?"

Brendan's hands froze over the keyboard.  "I do not 'love' him," he said, his voice low.  "I've only known him four months, for Christ's sake."  A faint flush warmed the base of his neck and he fought the urge to tug at his collar.

"You've been _living_ together for four months," she countered.  "Besides, what difference does that make?  You can fall—"

"You have to know someone a lot longer than that to tell whether or not you love them," he stated hoping she'd drop the whole thing.

"Says who?"  Freya finally turned all the way around in her chair, chin in hand, elbow on the desk.  Brendan had started his pecking again.  "Brendan, seriously, I try not to pay attention—but he's on your mind a lot.  You should see your face when you're thinking about him.  Your eyes sparkle whenever you talk about him."

"My eyes do _not_ sparkle," he said.

"Yeah, yeah they do.  Do you have any idea how he feels?"

"We are _not_ having this conversation," he said, finally meeting her eyes.  "It's…weird."

Freya snorted.  "You have no idea do you?"

"We don't discuss _feelings._"  He shrugged.

"Maybe you should," she said turning back to her work.  "'Cause you've got it bad, Bren."

He turned, but she wasn't looking anymore.  Nobody called him Bren except Vincent.  He was going to have to be more careful.  He wondered what Vince was doing at that moment, and when Freya tittered from behind her monitor, Brendan gathered his notebook and papers together and moved to another computer.  Telepathy, it just wasn't fair.

~~~~

Their conversation played over in his head as he walked to the parking garage – out in the open, where he could think freely.  Who wouldn't love Vince?  He was handsome, funny, smart, he could do anything, and when you were with him—he had a way of making you feel like you were the only other person on earth.  Had it only been four months?  When you said it out loud, it didn't sound like much, but four months of days _and nights _with Vincent seemed much longer. 

When he reached his space, Brendan stood and stared at the cherry on top of his day from hell.  Not only had his car been keyed, both rear tires were flat.  Great.  Fantastic.  Brendan didn't see how this day could get any worse and he swore softly as he pulled out his cell phone.

~~~~

He paid the cabbie and trudged up to his apartment.  Opening the door, the overstuffed faded leather bag drew his eyes like a magnet.  Vincent's bag – parked on the floor in the entryway.  Brendan walked past it slowly like one of those tiny yapping dogs he disliked so much.  Why was Vincent's bag in the hallway?  Suddenly, Tischenko, Varghese and a vandalized car didn't seem quite so bad.  In fact, he'd gladly do the whole day over again if only he could come back through the door and _not_ see that bag.  He turned and stared it down as if maybe it would disappear or levitate back to their room.

Brendan closed his eyes as warm arms circled him from behind.  He took a deep breath.  Damn, Vince smelled good.  Vincent nuzzled through the dark cloud that followed Brendan home and found that spot just behind his left ear, the spot that made him shiver every time.  "You're late," he said in that voice that could make even an admonition sound like a seduction.

"And you're leaving," Brendan said, swallowing the other words that threatened to tumble out.

Vince turned him around and pulled at his chin until their eyes met.  "Bad day?"

Brendan was a sulker, not one of his best qualities, but there it was.  Vincent had quickly figured out how to circumvent his bad moods and Brendan defied anyone to remain sullen after staring into Vince's eyes for about a minute and a half.  It just couldn't be done.  Vince leaned in to kiss him and as he pulled back, he smiled and gave Brendan the news.  "I've got a job.  Isn't that great?"

Running a hand along Vince's shoulder, he asked, "A job that requires you to leave town?"

"Yeah, buddy of mine back in Capeside.  He's short a couple of men for a cod run and, well, he heard about me losing my boat and all, so he checked with the Harbor Master and gave me a call.  There's a ticket waiting for me at the bus station."

Brendan listened.  His stomach inched its way into his throat at the twinkle in those gorgeous eyes.  The likelihood of Vince picking up and moving on was a spectre that had loomed since he'd first walked through Brendan's door.  Brendan knew it.  He'd never really expected to tame that gypsy soul.

"Listen Bren, it's only for a few weeks, just the one run, for now.  We've gotta go all the way to the Gulf of Maine, but I'll be back with enough money to more than cover my freeloading." Vincent's look was hopeful – a look that seemed to want Brendan to be just as pleased – and that only made Brendan feel worse. 

"You will?" he snapped, stomach twisting.  When Vince's expression changed, Brendan added, "Be back."  He pushed Vincent's arms away and walked into the kitchen – hating this day more and more with each step. 

Vincent followed him.  "Of course I'll be back, what do you think, I'm leaving for good?" he asked, winding his arms around Brendan again as he stood at the sink.

Brendan was stiff and mute.  He knew it was childish, but what the hell, he'd had a shitty day.

Vince let go of him.  "Okay.  So, you _don't_ want me to go?  You want me to miss out on this chance to pay you back, to pay my way around here?"  Vince's voice packed a little more heat. "How do you think I feel watching you go off to work day after day—knowing I'm doing nothing to contribute—knowing the only reason you let me stay here to begin with was because you felt responsible for—"

Brendan turned on him; heat stung his cheeks, knuckles white on the sink rim.  "I felt?  Oh, it had nothing to do with you showing up in my office whining about how I lost you your contracts and your boat and how you had nowhere else to go, and since it was _all my fault_, I should be the one to take care of you?" 

"So I used a line on you?" Vincent bit back.  "It worked.  You could have given me a few bucks and sent me on my way or found me a room somewhere, or just told me to piss off, but you didn't, and then we—"

"Yeah, and then we fucked!"  Brendan turned on the tap and filled a small glass with water.  "Or was all that just a line, too?" 

Vince was quiet, too quiet.  "Christ, Brendan," he finally said.  "I—sex with you has never been like that, you _know_ that."

Brendan nodded at the wall and took a sip of water.  That was just it, he did.

"Look at me, goddamn it.  Don't think for one minute I like staying here without paying my own way.  Now, a chance comes along for me to show you and—I'll only be gone for a few—"

When Vincent stopped talking, Brendan reluctantly looked up.  Rough hands bracketed his face as Vince pulled him close.  The glass of water shattered in the sink.  "Fucking bastard," Vince said between fiery kisses.  "Jesus...hot shot investigator…miss something like…don't you know…how can it be you don't…"

Brendan pulled him closer.  "Show me, Vince," he begged.  "Tell me, what don't I know?" 

He let Vince lead him to the bedroom.

~~~~ 

Brendan normally wouldn't feel awkward undressing in front of the mirrored closet doors. He did it every day, but Vincent specifically asked him to do this, Vincent was watching him do this.   Somehow, "this" was going to prove a point, make clear whatever it was he didn't seem to know.  Brendan had already removed his shoes and socks and the starched white oxford shirt skimmed his shoulders as it fell to the floor.  Brendan started on his fly.  Vince was behind him, watching him in the mirror. 

Their reflection was startling.  There were times when the resemblance was overwhelming, but other times, like now, they seemed quite different.  Brendan watched the muscles along Vince's back dance gracefully as he bent and stepped out of his jeans.  His brain had long ago memorized the contours of Vince's body, darker skin and the coppery-black hair that dusted Vince's chest and trailed over a mostly-flat stomach to nestle around his cock.  Brendan's eyes shuttered as the warm, naked body pressed against him.

"Open your eyes," Vince said.  "I want you to see how beautiful you are.  Do this for me, Bren.  Let me think about you doing this for me while I'm away working on that boat."  Vincent's voice was satin and sandpaper - it eased into Brendan's ears and slid along his spine like liquid fire.  Jesus, he'd do anything Vince asked as long as he asked for it in that voice.  He kicked his pants and undershorts aside, looked at Vince's reflection and nodded.

"Don't look at me," Vince said.  "Watch yourself."  Nipping his way along the curve of Brendan's neck, Vince pressed one last kiss onto his shoulder before lying back on the bed. 

Brendan's movements were wooden as his eyes darted to different parts of his body, not sure of where he was supposed to be looking or where he was supposed to touch first.  His own hands seemed foreign to him.  He began by sifting his fingers through the sparse hair on his chest, watching them circle his nipple, fascinated by the way it hardened at his touch.  He sent both hands skimming over his stomach, down to the hollows above his strong thighs.  Brendan turned and studied the way the hollow gave rise to the arc of his ass, a feature he'd never thought of as attractive.  Muscles tightened under his fingers as he flexed them.  Vince's heavy breathing filled the room, but Brendan didn't dare look at him.  Instead, he gazed at the man standing before him – an image that didn't even seem like his reflection anymore – searching, trying to find this gorgeous guy that Vincent seemed to think existed.

"See how beautiful you are," Vincent whispered from the bed.  "You know what I want, don't you?  I want you to see what I see.  I want you to touch yourself, just like you will while I'm gone, want you to watch, see how beautiful you are when you come."

Heat crawled over Brendan's skin.  The pressure between his ears turned out to be his own pulse.  Sliding his hand over his hardening cock, he watched himself stroke the length of it as pleasure licked at the base of his spine.  He cupped his balls with the other hand, tumbling them softly as he stroked.  There was a groan from the bed, and the dry sound of skin against skin.

At once, he felt completely and utterly naked, open, bared, as if all the eyes of the city were on him.  His hands stopped and fell to his sides.  "I can't, Vince," he said quietly, lowering his head.

"Yes.  Yes you can."  Vince was off the bed in seconds.  He lifted Brendan's chin, making him face himself in the mirror.  "No, no, no—don't look at me.  Look into your eyes."  Brendan did as Vince directed.  "Can't you see the passion underneath that hard _Agent Dean_ exterior—can't you feel your skin burn with the need to be touched—Christ, do you even know how much you need it, how much you want it?"

Brendan's eyes stung.  He blinked a few times to focus.

"I see it, Bren.  I see it every time you look at me, especially like this.  Jesus, look how turned on you are.  I want to give you what you need, what you want, but first you're gonna give me what I want."

Brendan moaned as Vince twisted a pebbled nipple between his fingers.

"It's not easy," Vince whispered, "seeing yourself as others see you—even harder to look inside—find what someone else cherishes about you—I know."  He took Brendan's hand and guided it back to his cock, and together, they stroked him back to full hardness.  Brendan watched Vince's hand on his, sighed when Vince rocked against him, working his dick between the cheeks of his ass, working it in time with the movement of their hands. 

Vincent finally let go, but stayed close.  "Eyes forward," he said softly.  "For me."

Brendan didn't want to.  Damn, this would be so much easier if he could just keep his eyes on Vince.  The words filtered through, but the tone of that voice, the pressure building in Brendan's groin, the weight of Vince's erection against him were all sending signals of their own, stepping all over the words, signals that rushed at him as he eyed the man in the mirror.  Brendan's lips parted as he slipped his hand over the head of his cock.  Shivers chased pleasure over his body, turning his muscles to stone.  Was this the man Vincent saw?  Could Vince see deeper than the physical?  Could Brendan?

He was much more than that.  This thing between them was much more.  Brendan caught a flash in the eyes looking back at him.  There.  Could Vince see that man?  The impregnable rock, the steel gate that couldn't withstand the battering of a beautiful free spirit, one that lusted after life with a bottomless heart and a passion and intensity that left Brendan in ashes every fucking time.

Fear sliced through him as he began to fist himself faster – fear that he wouldn't know how to go back to the way it was before - before Vince.  He watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest and focused on his shallow breathing.

"Look at you," Vince purred in his ear.  "Strong, brilliant—a man who cares, a good man—a man who puts his life in other people's hands every day—"

Brendan groaned as his hand whipped faster.  Jesus Christ, that voice – Vince was making love to him with his words.  Hot gusts of sweet breath prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.  His chest tightened as he stared harder at his reflection, desperate now to find this man only Vince knew was there; his entire body taut as a bowstring.

"I want you, Brendan, all of you—let go, let me have you, Bren, let me have—"

Brendan rose up on the balls of his feet; stars swam around his periphery as he snapped.  He watched thick white ropes splatter the other Brendan, watched the other Brendan's face until it was too much.  From the fragile cusp of consciousness, Brendan sensed the warm splash, barely aware of Vince's grunts and moans as he coated Brendan's back, pushing up through the slick until he was still and clinging to Brendan.

With just enough strength left to shove Vince back onto the bed, Brendan tumbled down with him, crushing their mouths together.  He never wanted to let go, ever.

~~~~

He woke to Vince's fingers trailing zig-zags across his chest.  He bolted up, not sure if he'd been asleep minutes or hours or even days.  Vincent pressed him back down.  "Hey, it's all right, I've got time.  You giving me a ride?"

Brendan realized he hadn't even told Vince about the car.  "I can't—the car—some asshole vandalized my car in the parking garage."  He propped up on an elbow, running his hand through his hair.

Vincent slid off the bed.  "Gonna call a cab, then.  No telling how long it'll take."

"I'll go with you," Brendan offered, getting up.

Vince rounded the bed and pulled Brendan to him.  "Thank you," he whispered, then kissed him.

Brendan pulled back and swallowed around the dry lump in his throat.  "That—that was incredible, Vince."  His brain refused to usher out the words he really wanted to say.  Even if it had, Brendan was afraid they'd all spill out in a scrambled mess.

"That wasn't just about the sex," Vince said softly.  Something about his expression pleaded with Brendan to understand.  "You saw that, didn't you—that's what frightened you."

Fuck, how could he have ever let someone get so far inside his head, so far under his skin?  This was so different from what Freya could do.  Vincent knew him better than he knew himself, and hell yes, that frightened him. 

"I'm coming back, Bren."  He held Brendan's face in his hands.  "This is where I belong.  I meant what I said, I want all of you—I won't settle for anything less."

Vince's words echoed what his own heart had been whispering for weeks.  In that moment, Brendan knew Vince would make good on his promise.  There would be plenty of time for the words.  They'd come when the time was right.  That leaden feeling in his stomach lifted.  He pulled back and took a long look at Vince.  "Bus, huh?  I would have bought a plane ticket for—"

"Yeah, I know."

Brendan reached for his pants.  "Well, you don't seriously think I'm gonna let you sit in a bus station alone, do you?"

"I'll be fine," Vincent said, heading to the bathroom.  He looked up and their eyes met.

Brendan smiled at him.  "Yeah, I know."


End file.
